The Summer Club
by Virareve
Summary: "Ferb, I don't understand. I called for pizza and it turned into an international crisis." A story involving pizza that comes an hour late, a possible wedding, a probable reunion, crafty matchmaking, and a summer no one is bound to forget. Oh, and there's babies too.


Prologue:

_in which an ensemble of related messages is sent out and the members are forced to answer a call_

_._

_Azabu Neighborhood, Minato, Tokyo, Japan 3:00 AM_

Ginger's flight arrives in Tokyo in the late hours.

When her driver drops her off at home, she is greeted with all the lights on in her apartment, a sign of welccome, and she's thankful that her housekeeper, Rei, knows how much a gesture as simple as that means to her.

Especially when she hasn't slept in the last seventy two hours

As she goes, she flicks off all the lights behind her: the foyer, the hallway, the guest room, the living room. She drops her suitcase on the floor and falls onto her couch. It's quite soft and she is surprised to discover that she doesn't know this considering that she's had this very couch for more than a year. The cushions beckon sleep to come, but when she opens a bleary eye she notices a letter sitting on the table in front of her—a sign from Rei that it's important.

Sighing, she leans over and slips her finger throw the fold in the envelope, noting the fine calligraphy that states her address and the quality of the paper. She slowly pulls out a card, tri-folded around another sheet inside and a pink silk ribbon keeping it together. In the midst of her lethargy, she wonder's which board member's daughter it is getting married this time. She pulls the ribbon and moves aside the paper folds, eyes drawn to the message.

This can't—_no_.

Not even five seconds have passed before she whips her phone out, sleep forgotten, punching in a long-distance number and hissing out almost immediately when the recipient picks up, "_Is this your idea of a joke?"_

_._

_Broken Yolk Cafe, San Diego, California, United States 10:00 AM_

Seventy-eight. Seventy-nine. Eighty.

Django swirls the coffee in his mug, bored.

Pancakes sit untouched on his plate and his utensils lie peacefully in their napkin. The coffee mug is already getting cold in his hands. Suddenly he hears a giggle behind him.

A woman, probably his age, looks playfully at him—green eyes, brunette, nice body—Django could easily see himself heading home with this girl tonight.

That is, if it weren't ten in the freaking _morning_.

She throws him a coy look and he winks at her over his shoulder, just because she killed her chances doesn't mean he has to let her know. And she giggles again, a little too loudly and a little too obnoxiously.

Unaware of his choice, she stands up from her seat, hips swaying, chest out—she is trying way too hard. And when she passes she slides a hand over his shoulder and slips her fingers into his jacket breast pocket. She whispers some suggestion that's too entirely inappropriate for the morning inside a cafe, before letting go and striding out the door.

Terrible execution, but not such a bad exit.

He pulls the piece of paper she left out and grabs his phone. Her number goes onto a list filled with other anonymous women, few of whom he actually gets back too.

Oh look. There's a new text message.

And this one could pretty much change everything.

"Oh…well I guess Dad and Mom will be happy to see me home again."

.

_Illinois Representative Adyson Sweetwater's Office, Washington D.C., United States 9:00 AM_

The thunder storm has left Washington covered in a fine casing of dew. It's ethereally beautiful in the way that everything seems to have crystallized overnight. Water drops cling to every overhang, reflecting dazzling streaks of light as they dripped onto the pavement. Trees seem to be encased in small rounded diamonds, living works of art. A scent of freshness pervades the air. For a brief moment in time, it is like the crowded metropolis belonged to another world.

Of course, there is a downside to such beauty, Brock Anderson knows as he looked out the window from his desk. It was nearly suicidal for anyone to even consider walking to work. Walking outside is akin to wading through a stream, though there are many intrepid souls that braved the hazard, such as the woman currently crossing the street. She nearly falls on the slippery pavement but saves herself at the last moment with a clumsy, muscular twist that lacks any grace and fluidity. Her purse lands in a puddle.

Adyson Sweetwater glances up and met Brock's eyes through the window. She reddens and mouths something that looks vaguely like a threat. He gulps.

The office door opens. "Mr. Anderson, do you have the schedule for the next week? Ms. Sweetwater said I needed to get them from you-"

He waves the young college intern into a nearby chair. "Just stay here a while, will you Terry?"

Terrence Ryan looks at him quizzically. "What's wrong?"

The answer appears in the doorway. "_A trip_?"

Both men wince at the shout. "I beg your pardon, Representative Sweetwater?" Brock hazards.

"Don't play dumb with me, Anderson!" She crosses the room in the blink of an eye, her palms slamming down hard on the surface of his mahogany desk. "I want to know why I received a plane ticket to Danville in my mail this morning!"

"It's just…these," he hands her the mail from yesterday.

Jade eyes flash dangerously. "What is it?"

He is treading on boggy ground here. "Just read it."

She takes the cards from him and carefully opens it

Adyson's fists are clenching and unclenching. Brock makes a mental note to give her a stress ball for Christmas. "I suppose since this was planned without my knowledge, it is already out of my hands. I can do nothing but go along." She spins on her heel and heads for the door. "Make sure nothing falls onto my itinerary the week of the twenty-ninth!"

.

_Princeton University, Princeton, New Jersey, United States 4:00 PM_

Baljeet puts all the details of his classroom to mind as he stands in the exit, remembering all the placement of the desks and recalling every single student he has ever had. There's been many students who have come through this door. Most of them were bright, a few were just there, and even fewer have shown potential, but he's had yet to see that spark—the one he had. The one he saw all throughout his childhood and one he hopes to foster in his students. Because while his mind spans beyond the constellations, his pupils still remain no further than firmly fixed in the stars.

Commencement was four days ago and summer classes will be starting soon, so his time here for the school year is done. Of course he'll come back in a few months to prepare his course, but since he won't be teaching a course this next session it will be awhile before he spends time in the room that's become practically a second bedroom for all the times he has had to stay up grading papers and preparing lectures.

His room is already emptied, he already cleaned it out, but he's had yet to finally close the door.

Seriously…if Buford could see him right now, getting all sentimental, he would….Baljeet shudders. He rather prefers not think of that.

Quickly he shuts the door and inserts his key into the lock. At the click he turns around, leaving his beloved place of learning behind. It's official. The term is over for him now and he's got three months of freedom to himself.

Now he needs to figure out what to do with it.

"Professor Rai!"

A shout comes from the right and he looks over to see a young blonde student, most likely in her third or fourth year, running toward him.

"Mr. Rai! Professor Rai!" She stops in front of him, panting. She has blue eyes and wavy blonde hair and she looks oddly familiar, he thinks. She holds out her hand for him to shake, "Melissa Orestano, former resident in the Danville Township and currently majoring in English at Columbia University." After shaking his hand she reaches into her purse and pulls out a manila envelope where he can see his name written in calligraphy on the back. "I was asked to deliver this to you and let you know that your attendance would be greatly appreciated." She hands him the packet and watches him pull the card out.

He raises an eyebrow. "Well what do you know…" he mutters to himself. He looks at the younger woman waiting patiently in front of him. "Tell them I will be there."

* * *

_To Whom it may Concern:_

_Ms. Ginger Hirano,_

_ We are writing to notify you of your temporary dismissal from Tri-Innovations' Board of Directors as of June 22, 2023. You may report back August 22, 2023, two months following your discharge from your seat. _

_Sincerely,_

_Stacy Humphreys  
Chairman of the Board_

* * *

_Django, I'm on my way to the hospital, won't you please come see the baby? Johnny wants us to go to the Maternity ward but I keep telling him a nice holistic birthing process is much better for our baby's feng shui._

* * *

_The Pleasure of Your Company is Requested_

_At the Marriage of_

_Violet Sweetwater_

_To_

_Harrison Darrow_

_Saturday, the Thirtieth of June_

_Two Thousand and Twenty-Three_

_At Four O'clock in the Evening_

_The Lake Nose Hotel and Resort_

* * *

_Together with their parents_

_**Isabella Garcia-Shapiro**_

_and_

_**Phineas Flynn**_

_request the pleasure of your company_

_at the celebration of their union_

_Friday, the fifth of July_

_Two thousand and twenty-three_

_At half after three o'clock in the afternoon_

_Danville Golf & Country Club_

_Danville_

_reception to follow_


End file.
